Chapter 131 - 130 A Happy Reunion
Threats from billionaires usually carry more weight, but Beatrice Wolfe’s venom simply smells like cheap perfume and desperation.
I watch her strut away down the pristine hallway of the Wolfe estate. Her high heels click sharply against the imported marble floor, echoing loudly in the quiet corridor. She threw her absolute worst insults at me, promising swift revenge for the humiliation she suffered. We’re officially enemies now. That much is perfectly clear. I roll my shoulders backward, stretching the tight muscles in my neck, completely ignoring the lingering scent of her floral perfume.
I head straight down to the underground training room. The heavy steel door slides open, revealing the cavernous, brightly lit space. The air down here is cool and completely sterile, smelling faintly of cleaning supplies and canvas. Leo is already waiting for me on the padded blue mats. He wears black athletic gear, looking every bit the lethal Special Forces operative he used to be. His broad shoulders and stoic expression make him an intimidating instructor.
"You look distracted," Leo says. He tosses me a pair of thick red boxing gloves.
"Just dealing with family politics." I catch the heavy gloves and pull them over my taped hands. "Let’s focus on defense today."
Leo nods and holds up the thick leather focus mitts. We fall into a familiar, grueling rhythm. I slip a fast jab, pivot entirely on my back foot, and throw a hard cross. The impact smacks loudly in the quiet room. Sweat immediately beads on my forehead. My muscles burn with the welcome ache of intense physical exertion. I refuse to let people like Beatrice Wolfe or Silas Hunt catch me off guard ever again. Every drop of sweat soaking into my shirt is a necessary investment in my own survival.
"Keep your guard higher," Leo instructs. He taps my left temple lightly with the pad, exploiting my exact weakness. "You drop your hand when you throw the right hook. A smart opponent will capitalize on that opening."
I adjust my stance and try again. The leather slaps repeatedly against the pads. I focus entirely on the mechanics of my body, the precise rotation of my hips, the sharp snap of my wrist. After a full hour of relentless drills, my lungs burn fiercely. I peel the sweaty gloves off with my teeth and grab a clean white towel from the wooden bench. I wipe my face, relishing the deep physical exhaustion. It clears my mind perfectly, pushing the complicated corporate drama of Jingchuan Pharmaceuticals right out of my head.
"Good work today," Leo says. He packs the training gear into a large duffel bag. "You’re getting faster."
"I have to be." I grab my plastic water bottle and take a long, desperate drink. The freezing water soothes my dry throat. "I need a quick shower. Then we’re heading straight into the city. I have a promise to keep."
Forty minutes later, I’m sitting in the back of the black security SUV. The leather seats are buttery soft and wonderfully cool. I watch the towering glass skyscrapers of Asuir blur past the tinted windows. The afternoon sun glares aggressively off the concrete pavement, baking the busy streets. We pull up to the curb in a bustling commercial district, surrounded by tall brick buildings.
The vibrant red and white awning of Aunt Cherry’s artisan pizza shop stands out beautifully against the gray masonry. A massive bright banner reading ’Grand Reopening’ hangs proudly right above the entrance. The line of eager customers spills out the door and snakes down the sidewalk. The rich, savory aroma of baking yeast, melting mozzarella cheese, and roasted garlic completely dominates the entire street block.
I step out of the SUV. Leo shadows me a few paces behind, his eyes constantly scanning the dense crowd for threats. I push open the heavy glass door to the shop. The brass chime above the frame rings cheerfully. The interior is absolutely packed to capacity. Small wooden tables are crowded with laughing families and chattering teenagers. Sunlight streams directly through the large front windows, illuminating the flour dust dancing in the air.
Aunt Cherry is orchestrating the glorious chaos from behind the long wooden counter. She wears a flour-dusted blue apron over a simple yellow dress. Her graying hair is pinned up in a practical, messy bun that looks ready to fall apart. She slides a massive wooden paddle deep into the blazing stone oven, her face flushed red from the intense heat.
A young woman stands right beside her, expertly folding cardboard and boxing up a fresh pizza. This has to be Fiona. She shares Aunt Cherry’s warm brown eyes and soft, rounded facial structure. Fiona’s auburn hair is tied back in a tight, practical ponytail, keeping it away from her sweaty forehead. She moves with quick, practiced efficiency, folding the cardboard flaps and sliding the hot box across the counter to a waiting customer.
Aunt Cherry turns around to grab a fresh ball of dough and spots me standing near the entrance. Her entire face lights up with sheer joy. She wipes her hands vigorously on a side towel and hurries out from behind the counter, navigating the tight maze of occupied tables.
"Emily!" Aunt Cherry pulls me into a fierce, suffocating hug. She smells incredibly comforting, like warm bread and sweet basil. "You actually came!"
"I promised I would," I say. I return the warm embrace, feeling a massive, genuine smile stretch across my face. "The place looks amazing. You’re incredibly busy."
"It’s been non-stop since we unlocked the doors this morning," she says. She steps back and beams at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "The neighborhood really missed us. And it’s all thanks to you. Come here, I want to introduce you to someone."
She grabs my hand and leads me behind the busy counter. Fiona finishes ringing up a customer on the tablet register and turns toward us. She wipes a thick streak of white flour from her cheek. Her eyes widen as she looks at me, taking in my plain dark jeans and simple cotton shirt.
"Fiona, this is Emily," Aunt Cherry says. Her voice grows thick with emotion. "The girl I told you about."
Fiona freezes for a split second. She quickly wipes both hands on her apron and steps forward, closing the distance between us. She grabs both of my hands. Her grip is incredibly tight, her knuckles turning slightly white.
"You’re Emily," Fiona says. Her voice trembles slightly. "I can’t even begin to thank you."
"It was nothing," I say. I gently squeeze her fingers back.
"It wasn’t nothing," Fiona insists. Her warm brown eyes turn bright with unshed tears. "That monster Silas Hunt has been terrorizing us for months. He constantly threatened my mother. He told me he’d completely ruin my life if I didn’t marry him. I was terrified to walk to the grocery store. I couldn’t sleep. I lived in constant fear every single day."
I listen to her words, letting the heavy gravity of her pain sink deep into my bones. Silas Hunt is a vile, disgusting predator who uses his money and local muscle to trap vulnerable women. The vivid memory of pressing my loaded Nightblade pistol directly against his skull brings me immense, dark satisfaction.
"He won’t ever bother you again," I tell her firmly. I maintain direct eye contact to assure her I mean every single word. "He knows exactly what will happen if he ever steps foot near this shop. You’re safe now, Fiona."
Fiona lets out a long, shaky breath. A bright, genuine smile transforms her face, erasing the deep lines of stress and making her look incredibly youthful. "My mother said you were so brave. She said you held off all those horrible thugs without breaking a sweat. We owe you our livelihood, Emily. Truly."
"You owe me a bacon pizza," I correct her. I gesture toward the massive stone oven radiating heat across the room. "That’s the only payment I’m accepting today."
Aunt Cherry laughs loudly, a rich and hearty sound that carries over the noise of the crowded restaurant. "You’ll get the best bacon pizza this city has ever seen! In fact, you’re getting two. Completely on the house."
"I’m paying full price," I say. I reach into my leather bag and pull out my wallet. "You’re running a business, Aunt Cherry. You need the revenue for this reopening. I absolutely won’t accept free food."
Aunt Cherry tries to argue, waving her flour-covered hands dismissively, but I place the cash directly onto the metal register counter. I give her a stern, uncompromising look that clearly communicates I won’t take the bills back. She finally sighs and shakes her head, smiling fondly at me.
"You’re entirely too stubborn for your own good," Aunt Cherry says. She pockets the cash and turns to her daughter, clapping her hands together. "Fiona, prepare two large bacon pizzas. Extra cheese, extra crispy edges."
"Right away," Fiona says. She dives into the prep station with entirely renewed energy.
I lean back against the wall and watch them work. The dynamic between the mother and daughter is a beautiful thing to witness. They move in perfect, chaotic sync, tossing dough, spreading rich tomato sauce, and layering fresh, vibrant ingredients. I refuse to disturb their workflow any longer. The line of hungry customers is growing, stretching further out the glass door.
"I’ll wait outside," I tell Aunt Cherry. "Take care of your customers."
Ten minutes later, Fiona rushes out and hands me two massive, steaming pizza boxes. The cardboard radiates intense, beautiful heat right against my chest. The aroma of melted mozzarella and thick-cut bacon makes my mouth water instantly. I wave a final goodbye to the busy women and push my way back to the street.
Leo opens the heavy door of the SUV for me. I slide into the backseat, carefully balancing the hot boxes on my lap. The blast of air conditioning provides instant relief from the sweltering Asuir heat.
"Where to next?" Leo asks. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
"Didi Cafe, please," I say.
The drive is very short. We navigate through the bustling afternoon traffic and pull up to the quaint coffee shop. I grab the pizza boxes and step out onto the shaded sidewalk. The cafe exterior features charming wooden panels and large, inviting windows displaying fresh pastries. I push open the glass door. A small brass bell chimes brightly above my head, announcing my arrival.
The sharp scent of roasted coffee beans and sweet vanilla syrup completely replaces the aroma of the pizza. The cafe is relatively quiet, providing a stark contrast to the chaotic energy of Aunt Cherry’s shop. A few patrons sit at small tables, typing quietly on laptops or reading thick paperback books. Soft acoustic guitar music plays from hidden speakers mounted in the ceiling corners.
I walk straight to the main wooden counter. Zoe is standing behind the massive silver espresso machine. She wears a crisp white button-down shirt and a stiff black apron. Her dark hair is cut in a sharp, stylish bob that perfectly frames her delicate features. She expertly froths a stainless steel pitcher of milk, completely focused on the swirling white liquid.
I place the pizza boxes gently on the counter. The cardboard makes a soft thud against the wood. Zoe finishes steaming the milk and looks up. Her dark eyes widen in pleasant surprise.
"Emily!" Zoe smiles brightly, her face lighting up. She grabs a damp cloth and quickly wipes down the metal steam wand. "What are you doing here?"
"I promised Chloe a bacon pizza, but I figured I should bring enough to share," I say. I tap the top of the warm cardboard box with my fingernail. "Are you hungry?"
Zoe leans over the counter and inhales deeply. She closes her eyes and groans in deep appreciation. "That smells incredible. I’ve been surviving on double espresso shots and stale blueberry muffins since six this morning. You’re an absolute lifesaver."
"I do my best," I say. I grab a tall wooden stool and sit at the counter, resting my elbows on the smooth surface.
"Give me exactly two minutes to finish closing out this register, and I’ll grab some paper plates," Zoe says. She moves quickly to the glowing touch screen terminal, her fingers flying across the digital buttons. "How have you been? You look a little tired."
"It’s been a long few days," I say. I stretch my legs out, feeling the dull ache in my calves from the morning training session. "I just finalized a major business deal, dealt with some ridiculous family drama, and almost shot a man in a pizza shop. Just the usual."
Zoe stops typing completely and stares at me. Her mouth falls open slightly. "Wait. You almost shot someone?"
I offer her a calm, innocent smile, enjoying the absolute shock on her face. "It’s a long story. Let’s eat first."